


The Stuck in the Middle with You Affair

by selyndae



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:46:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8850781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selyndae/pseuds/selyndae
Summary: Time marches on for everyone, and our boys are no exception. As Napoleon nears the 40 mark, there are bound to be changes...(I've chosen to forget about the 'Return' movie in this fic)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [edna_blackadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edna_blackadder/gifts).



> Yummy prompts: a clock tower, a snowstorm, and a now-or-never kiss!

_**November 11, 1972** _

“Ah, Mr. Solo, I’ll be with you momentarily.” Alexander Waverly held his hand over the receiver. “There’s fresh coffee, do help yourself.”

Napoleon Solo walked over to the credenza and poured himself a cup of the fragrant brew. The assortment of pastries looked tempting, but…his waistline—unlike his partner—widened with little provocation. Walking over to his usual seat, he tried to relax as he sipped the strong coffee. 

A meeting between just Waverly and himself could mean any number of things, although of late they involved mostly Section I business. 

But, today he was eleven days away from his fortieth birthday. No doubt that was the reason for the vague queasiness he’d been feeling off and on over the past month. He’d even checked with Medical, but they found nothing wrong. Dr. Tower had joked and suggested peppermint or lemon drops, or—better yet—try staying out of Thrush dungeons! 

Fortunately, the discomfort was minor enough to be ignored. A small part of him worried that this could be his body screaming ‘forty is dirty’ (he’d heard _that_ ‘clever’ phrase far too often).

He frowned, worried that his age was the most likely topic of conversation. Taking another sip of coffee, he toyed with the idea.

_Exceptions have been made before as to age. **I may** be a bit slower, but I’m also stronger and smarter than ever. Experience far outweighs youth. Besides, Illya and I are the best he has. _

A click of the handset signaled the end of the call. Depressing a button, Waverly spoke into the intercom. “Hold all calls.”

_“Yes, Sir. Standard protocols?”_

“Yes, yes.”

Waverly turned back to his Chief Enforcement Agent. “Now then, Mr. Solo, you are no doubt wondering about the purpose of this meeting. You will be forty soon, er, in eleven days I believe.”

Napoleon nodded slowly.

“There will be some significant changes from within Section I, which will eventually filter down through the other sections. And, Mr. Solo, you will be a part of it. I believe the saying is, ‘in on the ground floor.’ In view of the myriad changes which have been taking place in today’s world, our organization must continue to update accordingly.”

“Mr. Waverly, I was rather hoping to ask for an extension. It’s been done before.”

“It has. But it will not be done now. I would like you to bring the new Chief Enforcement Agent up to date on your case load as quickly as possible. During this time, I would also like you to make an on-site tour of the main branch offices in the Midwest. The coastal branches were visited last year, as you may recall.”

“Yes. The main South American branches were checked, too, weren’t they?”

“They were. You may also recall that as a result of these visits, some offices were consolidated and others were expanded.”

Napoleon nodded.

“As of January 1, 1973, you will officially be moved into Section I as my assistant. Miss Rogers will act as your own assistant as you assimilate into the new position.”

Even though he’d seen this coming, it was still somewhat of a blow. A faint glimmer of wan hope teased him. Waverly, himself, had gone into the field many times. 

_But, that was always dangerous. How many times had the enemy almost succeeded in doing away with the head of UNCLE? Far too many times…_

And foremost in his thoughts: _Who is Illya going to have as his new partner?_

He shifted in his seat as a small part of him mind was aware that Waverly was patiently waiting, smoking his pipe.

 _When did he light that?_ He wondered.

“I…er, thank you, Sir.”

Waverly smiled slightly. “I think you’ll do particularly well in the new position.”

_What new position?_

“You will be the liaison overseeing all of Western Hemisphere’s Section II. While the system we currently have in place has acted well, I believe that having one person with extensive experience in Section II, will eliminate some of the duplication of effort. Another benefit of this sort of overview will be to see the full picture. 

“Mr. Samoy has agreed to be your counterpart in the Eastern Hemisphere.”

“Uh, from the Calcutta office?”

“Yes. You may recall that he filled in for me during that Affair with that, peculiar woman,”

Napoleon nodded thoughtfully. “I thought I’d heard he was retiring.”

Waverly nodded complacently. “He has agreed to postpone his retirement for the time being.”

Napoleon nodded. “His experience would be very welcome. I imagine we would keep in close contact, say, once a week or so.”

Waverly waved his pipe in a small gesture. “You and Gabhail can work out the details later.” He stood up and walked over to Napoleon. “This is a bit premature, however, Napoleon, welcome to Section I.”

Napoleon stood up with Waverly and held out his own hand. “Thank you, Sir.” He forced a smile. “I had better get going if I’m to be ready. There are some things I should get Illya started on right away.”

Waverly cleared his throat. “Er, Mr. Kuryakin is currently on assignment.” 

Solo looked at Waverly sharply; he’d been unaware of any new assignment. As he looked closer, he could see a bit of discomfiture in the Section I’s expression.

“Mr. Kuryakin is not going to be the new CEA.”

“May I ask why not? He’s Number 2, Section II, next in line.”

Waverly sighed. “If circumstances had played out differently, he would have advanced to that position.”

“ _What_ circumstances prevent Mr. Kuryakin from advancing to Chief Enforcement Agent?” Napoleon’s voice had a slight edge to it.

“Mr. Solo, you forget yourself!”

The two men glared at each other. 

Finally, Waverly conceded. “Mr. Kuryakin would be an excellent CEA. Here, or anywhere else, for that matter. However, the current political climate is rather delicate. And, since this office is here in the United States, next to the United Nations, we must take these things into consideration.” 

Picking up his pipe, he stared at it for a moment. “The new CEA will be a Miss Henrietta Lange. She’s been on assignment in Europe for the last five years.” He tapped a folder in front of him before sending the table around. As Napoleon picked up the dossier, Waverly continued. “You’ll see she has had extensive experience with the C.I.A., as well as MI5. I must say, her intuitive skills are as keen as your own.”

“She seems…rather young, though.”

“No younger than you were, when you became CEA.”

Napoleon closed the dossier folder deliberately and sat back, hands folded over his lap. “And what about Illya? It seems pretty harsh for him to return, only to find out that he’s been booted out of what should be his job!”

Waverly’s voice was calm. “When Mr. Kuryakin returns, he will be given the opportunity to transfer from this office. I rather think he might agree to go to India where he can work in the Calcutta office. Then, when Mr. Samoy retires in—oh, perhaps three to six months—Mr. Kuryakin will then take over as liaison for the Eastern Hemisphere. The career advantages, I believe, should more than compensate for losing a Chief Enforcement position.”

Napoleon was stunned by the news, but struggled to hide his shock. “I…see. Yes, a good move, of course, career-wise.”

Waverly glanced up at the clock. “Miss Lange is due into New York in an hour. I’d like you to pick her up and bring her back to headquarters. It would be a good start for her here in this office.”

“Of course, Sir.” He stood up. “I’d better get going. In case of traffic…” He started to leave.

“Mr. Solo, I realize this has been a lot to throw at you. Take the next few days off. When you return will be enough time to try and assimilate everything.”

Napoleon blinked in surprise, but was quick to agree. There was a lot to take in. And, Illya… That bit of information really threw him off stride, and Napoleon Solo was not someone who was easily pulled off stride!

“Thank you, Sir. I’ll take Miss Lange around and make sure she’s settled before I go.”

“Very good. Be sure to check with Miss Rogers before you go home tonight.”

Napoleon walked back to his office, still dazed from the meeting. As he walked down the corridors, he smiled automatically at the various women he passed. Once inside his office, he sagged down in his chair. He’d known this was coming—forty and out, that was policy. And, while he’d hoped Waverly would make an exception for him, he wasn’t all that surprised that he didn’t.

The job allocation really sounded exciting. It would be enough of a challenge to make leaving the field behind a good thing. And, in charge of the entire Western Hemisphere!

So, why did he feel so…let down?

He sighed, unable to avoid the facts. _I guess I thought Illya would move up along with me. That nothing would change. Or, at least, not too much. Illya in charge of the Eastern Hemisphere…he deserves it. Of course, he does! The job is practically tailor-made for him. So, why am I so…?_

With a shake, Napoleon reached for his coat and shrugged into his coat. He’d better get a move on if he was going to make the airport in time.

 

Henrietta was somewhat of a surprise. In the end, it was she who found Napoleon rather than the other way around. The biggest surprise was her height; she was well under the five foot mark, and her features were more…arresting, than pretty. Her short, dark hair was simply styled, but her eyes (definitely her best feature) were made up with a light touch. Once she opened her mouth, though, all thoughts about ‘little people’ fled. Hetty was a formidable woman!

“I’m glad you were able to meet me at the airport, Mr. Solo.”

“My pleasure, Miss Lange. Have you been in New York before?”

The diminutive woman smiled. “Please call me Hetty.”

“As long as you call me Napoleon.”

Hetty fixed her eyes on him for a long moment while she studied him. Finally she nodded. “An unusual name, but it suits you.”

His smile broadened.

“Let me see…yes, it _has_ been a while.” She had been looking at the passing scenery with charming eagerness.

 

The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly and far more quickly than he would have imagined. After taking the…next CEA around headquarters, they finished the tour in his (soon to be her) office. She would be meeting with Mr. Waverly at the day’s end, so they had an hour or so to wait.

“Do you have any questions? Anything else you’d like to see, Hetty?”

“No, you’ve covered everything quite well. If you would refresh my memory on how to reach the canteen, I’d like to get a cup of tea.” She glanced at his desk. “I’m sure you have things you need to do before you leave tonight.”

“I can show you, or, if you prefer, you can make it here.” His eyes flicked to a small cupboard behind her. “We keep an electric teakettle and a nice selection of different teas. When he’s here, Illya often brews a pot in the afternoon.”

Hetty’s eyes twinkled. “Perfect.” She pursed her lips. “Let me see… Earl Grey, or perhaps Russian?”

“I think we can oblige.”

 

It had been a long day and right now, Napoleon wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep. Funny how the events had him so exhausted.

He’d been prepared to resent Miss Lange, but after spending the afternoon with her, had to admit that he quite liked her. Her skills on the firing range rivaled his own. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind and from what he could see of her organizational skills, she would be an excellent CEA.

After meeting with Waverly at 6:30, it was decided that Hetty would take up the reins of CEA (temporarily for now) in Napoleon’s absence. Then, when he returned, they would work together for a week or so until an official announcement would be made of Solo’s promotion.

It all sounded so reasonable and…he hated it! The depth of his feelings startled him; after all, this was a well-deserved promotion, and a welcome one, but… Illya. Somehow he’d forgotten that Illya wasn’t going to be his partner anymore. No. That wasn’t it. He knew Illya wasn’t going to be his partner, well, not technically—Illya would always be his partner. 

But, somehow, he thought they’d be together. Maybe one or the other would get married, even have children… He could easily imagine Illya with a couple of children, blond, blue-eyed. Children would settle the fierce Russian into a loving and kind father in a home filled with laughter. His own post-UNCLE lifestyle would naturally be neat and stylish, his wife tall, blonde, elegant, while Illya’s wife would be—

He snorted in disgust. Chimera, all of it!

_Okay, Napoleon, focus! He’ll still be your partner. Heck, with Illya overseeing the Eastern Hemisphere and me overseeing the Western, we’ll practically be invincible. We’re the best team UNCLE has ever seen, and together…_

He gave a sharp nod of satisfaction. This could work. This _must_ work.

“Napoleon!”

He stopped and turned back around.

Lisa Rogers strode purposefully toward him, holding up an envelope. “Napoleon, you forgot this.”

“What is it?” Automatically reaching out for the sealed envelope.

“Mr. Waverly left this for you.” She smiled. “It’s an early flight.”

 _Flight…?_ “Thanks, Lisa.”

Feeling strangely out of sync, Napoleon decided to stop by the canteen for a coffee before leaving. At this time of night, the cooks usually put up a new pot.

 

The flight was smooth, and on time, but he still had no idea _why_ he was going to Michigan of all places! And at this time of the year? Ugh! If it had to be snow, it could have been almost anywhere else—the Alps, Aspen, even some lovely, gentle slopes in the Appalachians. Michigan had—what _did_ Michigan have…?

 

“Illya!” Napoleon flashed his megawatt smile. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

Illya’s lips twitched, but he merely gave a short nod. “Luggage?”

Somewhat bemused, Napoleon glanced down at the small bag in his hand. “Uh…yes.” He held up the tote. “And this.”

“We should get going. The radar has picked up a bad snowstorm and we still have a good hour’s drive ahead of us.”

“Snowstorm…?”

Illya’s tone was patient. “Yes, Napoleon, a snowstorm. You remember? Snow, ice, cold?”

“I remember.” Making one of his disgusted faces, he headed toward the luggage carousel.

Illya driving somewhat faster than Napoleon preferred. They’d left I-94 from the airport and were heading north on 23. The car was a '68 Cadillac Fleetwood, a few years old, but a good choice. A heavy tank of a car, it was able to plow through the snow and still be a comfortable ride. 

As they merged onto I-75, traffic picked up causing Illya to slow down a bit. He was still passing the others on the interstate, but not as often. The flakes, which were small had been pelting down steadily, with occasional clicks as sleet began to mix in. The wind was driving the snow so it seemed to be blowing across the car rather than down. 

They’d been making good time despite the weather conditions. Traffic had lightened up considerably once they got out of the urban sprawl. The interstate had long narrowed from the eight-lane highway into four. Once in the rural setting, it was now divided like a boulevard, the island of snow-covered grass and trees wide enough to hide the southbound lanes completely. The Cadillac’s headlights continued to struggle as the falling snow changed over from hard, icy bits to wet, fat flakes which was almost too heavy for the wipers to clear.

“How much further?”

“If the weather keeps on like this, probably another hour.”

“So, where exactly are we’re going?”

“You don’t know?”

Napoleon sighed. “I don’t actually. All I was given was an envelope with a plane ticket.”

Illya shrugged. “Mio.”

“Where’s that? And more importantly, why?”

“Above the Thumb and…I’m not sure why. We're to get further instructions in Mio.

“We’re driving hundreds of miles in hazardous road conditions on a need-to-know 'treasure' hunt? Swell."

Illya shrugged, automatically correcting the small skid caused by protesting tires. “When I finished the handover in Toledo, I was sent to meet you at the airport in Romulus. Mr. Waverly said we were to get to Mio where everything's been arranged. We’re to contact—” He peered through the heavy snow. “Is that the Rose City exit?”

“Er…yes.”

Illya slowed down sharply to get off the exit which was hard to see. Once off, they were on a smooth, two-lane highway and heading north again.

In the country the snow had accumulated to well over a foot and by the looks of things, wasn’t going to let up anytime soon. The landscape was gentle hills of farmland with an occasional tree or farmhouse to break up the vast expanses.

“We’re to contact whom?”

“Oh. We’re to contact the manager.”

Leaning forward in an attempt to see better, Napoleon drummed his fingers lightly on the dash. “I wish we knew a bit more.” He sighed. “I was told to take a few days off. Somehow, I don’t think this qualifies.”

“I, too, was looking forward to some time off.”

“I thought it was a courier job.”

“It was. But, there was some question about my right to courier the goods.”

“I see.” Napoleon shot a keen look at his partner. “How bad?”

Illya quirked a grin. “Just some minor bruising. The others didn’t fare as well.”

_Meaning: You should see the other guy._

Lights up ahead signaled a town and Illya slowed accordingly. They had passed through a few since leaving the highway, but weather and lateness of the hour had everything locked up tight. 

 

Finally, they spotted the snow-covered sign for Fairview. This tiny town, like the others, was closed with only a few street lamps and decorations piercing through the darkness.

“I’m looking for—ah, here it is. We’re almost there, Napoleon, only another couple of miles.”

The road had narrowed even further and the heavy, slushy snow made driving almost impossible. Illya had slowed the car almost to a crawl as he plowed through the snow. Just ahead he could see the outline of a small, one-lane bridge.

Suddenly the car lurched to the right! Illya fought with the wheel trying to pull out of the skid, but to no avail. With a bump, the car slammed to a stop, stuck in a huge snowbank.

They were tilted at a sharp angle, the headlights bouncing off the frozen river. After several minutes of trying to get out, Illya snorted in disgust and shut off the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening.

“I’m afraid we’ll end up in the river; we’ll need a tow truck for this.”

Napoleon looked out at the snow which was almost level with his window. The car was tilted so the passenger side was as the high end. He couldn’t see anything through Illya’s window.

“We should only have another half mile to go; we can walk the rest of the way.”

“How does your side look?”

Illya hesitated. “I think there’s a ditch or ravine. I'd just as soon not chance it. Can we get out on your side?”

Napoleon unlocked the door and pushed it open. It stopped abruptly about halfway. “Do you have a flashlight?”

“In the glove box.”

Taking it out, Napoleon thumbed on the light and played it around the opening before coming to rest at the obstruction.

“There’s a tree here; that’s why I can’t open the door any wider.” He took an appraising look. “I think there’s enough room.” He handed back the flashlight before reaching back for his coat. Shrugging into the heavy anorak, he managed to squeeze out, slipping down and landing on his butt in the snowbank. After a slight struggle, he managed to get back up on his feet. “Hand me the flashlight, will you?”

Illya scooted across the front seat and handed the flashlight up. “How bad?”

The powerful beam showed the car wedged deep into the frozen mud and snow. “It’s really stuck, that’s for sure.” He moved the light around some more. “It looks like the trunk is clear at least.” He inched up the embankment and aimed the light over to the road. “The snow doesn’t look as deep here. You said half a mile?”

“Possibly a bit more, but yes.” Illya was pulling on his coat. “I’ll get our luggage.”

After some struggling, the men managed to get their baggage up the bank and on the road. The wind, which had been swirling the still-falling snow about in gusts had finally died, making their trek somewhat easier. 

It seemed like hours as they trudged through the deep snow, but finally in the distance, they could see a porch light gleaming through the sparkling snow.

Now that their goal was finally in sight, the two men slogged through the snow eagerly, until finally, they stumped up on the large front porch. They could hear faint music from inside.

Napoleon had just pressed the buzzer once when the front door was flung open by a small, round man with bright blue eyes and thinning hair,

“Welcome, Mr. Solo, we were starting to get worried.”

“The weather slowed us down, ah, Mr…?”

“Watson.” He peered past Solo and smiled at Kuryakin. “Just use the brook to get most of the snow off.” Watson gestured to an old broom standing next to the door. “Where’s your car.”

“We had a little problem just before the bridge, Mr. Watson.” Illya’s tone was casual. “The car slid off the road and will need a tow to pull it out.”

“The bridge?” Watson nodded sagely. “That’s a bad spot. The State boys were stuck there last week.” He shook his head. “Here, let me take your coats. My wife has been keeping your supper warm.”

They’d been hoping the inviting aromas were for them.

A sweet-faced woman with white, curly hair came out of the kitchen. “Go ahead and get settled. My husband will show you the way. Dinner will be on the table in 30 minutes.”

“Thank you.”

The man took them through the side door which opened into a breezeway. This in turn led to a garage, but when the door was opened, they could see the garage had been turned into a guest house. A fire had been lit in the huge fireplace, making the large room warm and cozy. A comfortable sofa flanked by two club chairs faced the fireplace which was centered on one wall. The opposite wall had stairs to a loft. Under the loft, a tiny kitchenette with tiny combination refrigerator and stove was surrounded by a bank of wall cupboards. A round oak table and chairs completed the area. The door they entered by had a hall tree with a small entry table next to it.

“There’s just the one bed, but the couch opens up for sleeping.” He glanced at his watch. “The missus said 30 minutes.”

Once Watson left, the men automatically did a check around the room. Illya had climbed the steep stairs and was checking the loft. After a few minutes, he walked over to the railing and called down.

“Napoleon, you have to see this!”

Napoleon had finished the downstairs and was poking at the fire, settling the logs a bit better. “Is that a ‘good’ see this or a ‘bad’ see this?”

Illya grinned. “Just come up here.”

Napoleon put away the poker and climbed upstairs. His eyes widened slightly in astonishment.

On the massive featherbed was a blue and white quilt. The center had an intricate pattern of starbursts in varying shades of blue and white, but the real surprise was the design around the outside edges. There, carefully picked out in the darker shades of blue was a running pattern of the UNCLE logo!

Napoleon was shaking his head in disbelief. “This is just…weird.” He moved a bit closer to the bed, hesitant to lift it up. “You finished checking this, right?”

“It’s…clear.”

Lifting up the quilt, he looked under it to see a thick, soft blanket and sheets—both plain as far as he could see.

“What do d you think would be there?”

“Never mind.” Napoleon pressed down on the bed; the mattress was a good one. 

Illya grinned. “Shall we toss to see who gets the bed?”

“We could, but really, this bed is large enough for a battalion. I think we can share, if you don’t mind.”

Illya shrugged, but before he could say anything, a knock came to the door.

“It’s just me.” Watson opened the door, sending a delightful aroma of hot stew and biscuits into the room. “We thought you’d enjoy dinner out here.”

They scrambled down the stairs to help.

“Plates and flatware are in the cupboard. There’s a tin of coffee if you want that, or juice in the fridge.” Watson winked and lowered his voice conspiringly. “There’s a couple of bottles of scotch in the back of the pantry. I like to hide it from the missus.”

“This looks wonderful.” Illya started toward the huge pot of stew which was now on the stove.

“Thank you. Oh, I let your boss know you got here, and he said to get in touch with him tomorrow. You can get a pretty good signal from the loft.”

Napoleon took a harder look at Watson, then smiled. “Now I remember you. You were from the Pittsburgh office, weren’t you? But, you had a different name…?”

Watson smiled. “That was quite a while back. I retired over six years ago. And the name’s Watson. I should get back. Oh, I’ll call for a tow in the morning.”

“Thank you, Mr…Watson.”

Watson gave them a sharp look before finally leaving.

“I thought he looked familiar, too, but perhaps a different office…”

“It was Pittsburgh.” Napoleon was positive. “And in Section II— _And_ , I remember where.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense. Where?”

“He was big in the steel industry and worked on some kind of cold process… Anyway, Thrush was very interested in the procedure. What they didn’t know was that Klein— _that’s_ his name—was also UNCLE. He was one of the key players in taking out the Pennsylvania Satraps…”

Illya spoke softly. “There was a big explosion near Three Rivers. I remember reading about it.”

“Yeah. The property damages were astronomical, but only three people were killed. One of them was Klein.”

“So, he retired from UNCLE and became Watson.”

“Yes…he did...”

Illya looked sharply at his partner, startled by the odd tone of voice, but only said, “This stew is delicious. There’s honey for the biscuits.”

Napoleon gave himself a shake and sniffed before grabbing a bowl and dishing it out for himself.

They ate in companionable silence.

 

Once finished, they rinsed their dishes and tidied up a bit before sitting on the sofa, watching the fire. Napoleon glanced over at his partner. He’d hoped to have the chance to talk about the huge changes ahead, but…Illya was slouched and practically asleep, so maybe tomorrow. After they learned more about this decidedly odd mission.

He gave his partner a poke. “Hey, sleepyhead, let’s go to bed.”

Illya stretched lazily before hauling himself up from the sofa. He looked at the fire and banked it for the night. “Let’s go. I’m tired enough to sleep for a week.”

Napoleon smiled. “If the Watsons show up with fresh muffins, you’ll be up.”

“Well… I suspect we’ll be on our own for breakfast. He _did_ point out the coffee pot and juice.”

They shut off the lights downstairs. The glowing embers from the fireplace had just enough light to see the stairs and once up in the loft, the window let in just enough light. They undressed and got into bed without fuss, their communicators at hand on the nightstands and Specials under their pillows.

As they curled up, waiting for the sheets to warm, Napoleon glanced over at his partner who was on his side, looking out the window. “See anything?”

“Just snow. It’s…nice.”

“From the inside looking out, yes, it’s nice.”

They lay quietly for a bit.

“Napoleon? Do you hear something?”

Napoleon tensed. “Danger?”

“No… I think it’s bells.”

“Bells?”

“Yes, listen!”

Napoleon held his breath and listened. Finally, over the faint pops and snaps from the fireplace, he could hear the ringing,

Illya sat up and opened the window a crack. A little snow swept in from the movement.

“It’s cold outside…” Napoleon thought he’d remind his Siberian-bred partner that not everyone has antifreeze blood

“Listen! It’s a carillon.”

Napoleon listened. “It is.” He listened a bit more and was finally able to identify the tune as _Silent Night._

The bells rang out the song joyfully. When the last note finally sounded, the echo gradually faded in time with the rhythm of the gently-falling snowflakes. After a pause, a single bell began to toll out the time.

“Twelve o’clock…” Illya reached over and shut the window. He glanced over at his partner who, in the faint light looked a bit pensive.

“Napoleon?”

Napoleon had been listening to the soft music of the bells and watching his partner, when suddenly, like a flash, it hit him! The odd turmoil in his stomach, the dread of moving up to Section I, the shock about Illya being transferred to Calcutta—all of this boiled down to one thing. He didn’t want to leave Illya! Illya was essential. Illya was his best friend. He loved Illya. Illya was—

_Oh! That's it… I don’t just love Illya. I’m **in** love with Illya! Oh help!_

Illya had been watching the play of emotions over his partner’s face and smiling, reached over to touch him on the arm.

“Is there something you wish to tell me?”

“I…I don’t know. Illya…” Napoleon took a deep breath. “I don’t want you to leave!”

Illya took a hard look at his partner. “What exactly do you mean?”

“I…” The words were all jumbled up. He studied the beloved face carefully, weighing the odds of getting killed when suddenly his arms were full of glorious, wonderful Illya!

Then, in the midst of dawning joy, their lips met, bruising, hard, warm. The kiss lasted an eternity of plans for a future together.

 

The snow had finally stopped and the sky was beginning to lighten up. Soon, they would need to contact Waverly. 

Napoleon still didn’t know what exactly he was going to say or how things were going to go as far as the organization went. What he _did_ know was that he and Illya would be together. Illya reached up just then and gave a slight tug.

As they smiled at each other, they knew this was where they belonged…together, forever.

Stuck together.


End file.
